Ruining Shoes
by DianeB
Summary: A short post-ep to "Twenty-Five." Jed wants to sink into the ground, but Abbey will not let him.


Title: Ruining Shoes

Author:DianeB

Disclaimer:I was once told my stories lack _protocol_. While I appreciated the information, I couldn't imagine why it mattered, considering they are, you know, works of fan fiction based on a fictional White House. Nevertheless, you have been warned. Still, let's not call it protocol-free, but rather protocol-_lite_.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing:Jed/Abbey

Summary:A short post-ep to "Twenty Five." In the hours after Zoey is taken, Jed wants to sink into the ground - but Abbey won't let him. This story is similar to another one of mine from this episode (_Believing Lies_), but is written from a slightly different angle. Just trying to wring every last ounce of despair out of the episode, you see.

A/N: A zillion thanks to Brenda, Mighty Editor Goddess, and to Amanda, Mighty West Wing Goddess. Every division indicates a change in pov. Originally written 6-30-03 (while this precious show was still actually airing new episodes), and revised 3-31-08.

* * *

Abbey finally found him in the Rose Garden, as far away from the house as he could get, standing in the wet grass, ruining his shoes. His back was to her and he was staring up into the cloudy night sky. Her stomach tightened at the sight of him.

"Jed."

He didn't turn, merely held out his arm.

She wanted to remind him about the wet grass and her brand new Stuart Weitzman's, but instead found herself going to him, wrapping her arm around his waist.

He tightened his arm around her and stated flatly, "It's done, Abbey."

She sighed, leaning fully against him, touching from foot to hip, the way she used to when they were younger, when "protocol" was just a word in the dictionary and appearances didn't mean a thing. She did not need to ask what was "done." They were now Mr. and Mrs. Bartlet, not the President and the First Lady. Technically, she knew that wasn't quite true, but she also knew it was exactly what Jed was thinking. For now, and for however long it took, they were simply parents whose child had been taken.

It was, perhaps, more than she could bear.

She tightened her embrace further, turning slightly and circling him with both arms, pressing her lips into his shirt. He was warm. Clinically, he was _too_ warm, but she forced the medical assessment from her mind. The arm around her was firm and strong, and – standing this tightly against him – she could feel the faint but steady throb of his heartbeat and was comforted by it. His strength was something she desperately needed tonight.

Joining her hands, she tugged to encourage him to move. "C'mon, we should go on upstairs. The guys," she cocked her head toward the SS agents still on the paved path, "are getting worried."

But he did not move. "In a minute." The silence that followed was filled with unfocused tension and pain.

"Jed." She craned her neck to look at him, but he was staring straight ahead into places she could not see. It was a familiar expression, and when he began to speak, his words confirmed her growing dread.

"I did something bad, Abbey, something very bad. I told Zoey a scary story a couple of years ago, because I was angry at her, and I wanted her to take her protection seriously. This is that stor--"

_Oh no_, she thought hatefully, taking the dread and shaping it into something she could use, _oh no, no, no_. She would not sacrifice herself to him, not on this night. "No, Jed," she hissed, cutting him off before he could get the last word out, "don't do this." She pushed away from him and stomped her foot into the soft ground, which did nothing for emphasis and only caused her heel to sink in. But she ignored her shoe and increased her volume, not caring about the SS agents standing so nearby. "Don't you _dare_ do this!"

He went on as if he hadn't heard her, as if she hadn't moved. "I made her cry. I made my baby girl cry with that story, Abbey. And now it's come true. If they don't find her. . .if they. . .if she's. . ." His voice ground to a halt. He raised his eyes once more to the overcast heavens.

Josiah Bartlet was the ultimate king of guilt, this Abbey knew, but she was too close to the edge herself to let him go on. If he started down this road, she knew she would not be far behind, and neither of them could afford that luxury, whether they still had their titles or not. She continued to draw strength from her anger, a necessary tactic when attempting to deal with her husband's almighty guilt.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Josiah!" She backed further away from him and stumbled out of the shoe that was stuck. He grabbed instinctively for her, the shock of her vehement swearing evident on his face, but she gained her balance on her own and shoved him away. "You will _not _do this, not to yourself or to me!" Ferociously, she kicked the other shoe from her foot and stood there in her stockings. "You know we can't afford even one second of "if's," Jed, not if we want to find her! And when we do find her, when we _do_ find her, and she's alive and in one piece, _then_ you can go off and wallow in your guilt until the goddamn cows come home. But not until then. Not. Until. Then."

She stepped up to him, her feet cold and wet, and raised her hand, intending only to emphasize her outburst with a firm whack to his chest. But her heart clearly had other intentions, and what was supposed to be one gesture turned quickly into something else entirely. Her hand curled into a fist and she began to pound him with increasing speed and force, not realizing tears were coursing down her face and that every connection to his chest was accompanied by a tortured, ragged sob. "Not. . .until. . .then.." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement from the SS agent closest to them, but she felt no restraining hand upon her.

* * *

Jed stood there and took his wife's pounding, raising one hand against the SS agent, who was ready to defend his president even from his own spouse. Abbey's anguish hit Jed just as surely as her fist did, but he never tried to stop her or even to slow her down. Finally, when her desolate fury began to abate, Jed gently encircled both wrists and stopped her entirely.

"Abbey."

Exhaling profoundly, she fell against him, spent, her knees buckling. He took her weight and guided her down to the damp earth, unconcerned with what it might do to their clothing. And what did they have to worry about appearances now, anyway? He suspected the agents were uncomfortable with this emotional display, moving as they did into the shadows, but he knew they would continue to stand there, whether the (former) President and First Lady spent the night in the grass or not. On his knees with Abbey motionless in his arms, he could feel his pants wicking up moisture, and it was decidedly chilly and uncomfortable. Okay, he conceded, the agents wouldn't have to camp out; he and Abbey could not be staying here very long.

"Abbey," he whispered, "you still with me?" Since he was not at all certain she was, he was relieved when she stirred in his arms.

"Jed?" She pulled away from him and sat back. He reached out to wipe tears from her cheeks with his tie.

"Hey, babe," he started softly, still dabbing her wet cheeks. "I'm sorry. You're right, of course. We can't afford my almighty guilt this time, can we?" He wondered about the crooked smile she offered in return for his crack, but accepted it gratefully. "I just don't know which direction to turn, and I'll be damned if I like the feeling. Walken and his damn little dog give me the creeps, and C.J. looked terrified, but I know he'll stay focused. He'll get the job done, one way or another.

"The last thing this country needs now is a president who's weighing every decision against his daughter's life. Walken doesn't have that problem; he's not going to waffle. It's the best way, it's the _only_ way. I just wish I knew what the hell to do next."

* * *

Abbey felt a cramp developing in her calf, and her skirt was getting soaked. Her feet were icy, and she could see her shoes sitting forlorn in the soil. But her emotional release against Jed's chest brought a degree of balance to her state of mind, restoring both her humor and her horse sense. "What we do next, Professor, is pick our aging bodies up off this wet ground before pneumonia sets in." She climbed unceremoniously to her feet and held out her hand to him.

Jed took it, and, grunting, allowed her to help him to his feet. She watched as he looked down at his ruined pants and shoes and then over to her equally ruined outfit. "Christ, Abbey, look at us." She could tell he was trying to match her levity, but his attempt didn't quite hit the mark. His second attempt came much closer, however, as he cocked his head towards the portico where one agent stood, and waggled his eyebrows at her. "What's Harold gonna think? So c'mere." As she stepped toward him, he bent to retrieve her shoes. "You want these?"

"No. Take them to the Residence. Give you something to do."

"While you're doing what?"

"Going to my office."

"Like that?"

She looked down at herself and then back up at him. "Yes. Doesn't really matter right now, does it?" In fact, Abbey enjoyed the thought of traipsing through the White House damp, dirty, and stocking-footed.

* * *

He huffed at her comment. Even after thirty-five years of marriage, he was still surprised they could think so much alike at times. Hell, he thought, she probably just wanted the opportunity to tramp through hallowed halls looking like that. "You gonna be long? Because, you know," he gestured to her skirt, "you're gonna to need to get out of those wet clothes."

* * *

It was obvious his concern was genuine, if not his mischievous tone. "No, I won't be long. I need to get my purse, and I wanna find Amy and apologize for treating her so badly."

They walked hand-in-hand in comfortable silence back into the light and along the portico until he separated from her to go to the Residence, her shoes dangling loosely from his fingers.

* * *

This was how it was probably going to be between them until Zoey was found. Moments of unbearable pain, followed by moments of stunning normalcy. Jed would worry that his guilt would consume not only himself but his wife as well. Abbey would worry that she would not be strong enough to keep Jed with her when she needed him so very badly to be the strong one.

Both would worry their daughter would not be found alive.

Neither would say any of these things aloud to the other.

And as Abbey reached her office and Jed dropped two pairs of muddy shoes onto the bathroom floor, the night sky began to clear.

End.


End file.
